Most of my grandmother’s children – there were seven of them – lived out their lives within walking distance of their mother’s white frame house in Scottville, Michigan. Not my father. He moved away. So did I. So has my son. Read more.
empty nesters
A (Pillow) Case of the Human Condition: Time to Crack Open That Hope Chest and Live a Little
I waited too long to get married. By the time Jon and I said our vows, the contents of my hope chest had become outdated, old-fashioned, fussy — unusable. As a result, after thirty some years of marriage, I continue to be the owner of a dozen or so beautiful, hand-embroidered, virginal pillowcases. Read more.
A Case of the Human Condition: I’m a Woman with a — Sprawling — Past
The trouble with painting inside your closets is — everything has to come out of them.
And then what do you do with all your beloved stuff?
Early Late Youth Gives Way to Middle Middle Age
When I was twenty, I didn’t want to be thirty. When I was forty, I considered fifty a disaster. And now that I’m sixty-seven I don’t want to even think about sixty-seven, let alone sixty-eight.
A Case of the Human Condition: Long-Distance Mothering
Peter is fine. His appendix was twice the size of normal. But it’s gone for good.